


You'll Be Kicking Yourself

by brooklynbruised



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bottom Steve Rogers, During Canon, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Smut, Top Bucky Barnes, Unrequited Love, Unrequited Lust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 17:22:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22499740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brooklynbruised/pseuds/brooklynbruised
Summary: Steve should've done something sooner and now the guilt is eating him up inside.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Kudos: 74





	You'll Be Kicking Yourself

Bucky looks like shit but Steve isn't going to say that, and he tries his hardest to not let it show on his face when Bucky's eyes flutter open to meet his.

"Whoa, Stevie -" Bucky reaches out a hand to touch the blond's face but it barely moves, his face contorting into a mixture of pain and disappointment. His brows stitch together before he says, "What're you...doing' here?"

Steve slides an arm under Bucky's, hoists him off the table to rest on his feet. "Savin' you, stupid."

Bucky snorts and braces himself, almost as if he's expecting Steve to drop him, and his eyes widen when the smaller of the two doesn't. "How're you carrying' me? I carry you!" His speech is a bit slurred and his eyes are unfocused.

"We've got a lot of catchin' up to do. Let's get you to camp."

Steve lets Bucky lean his weight on him, barely phased by it, and nods at the other soldiers before pushing out of the building and towards the road leading away from whatever hell hole this was for Bucky. 

And Steve can't even imagine what that was. Bucky's face and body are covered in grime, bruises and caked blood everywhere, and Bucky looks like he's about to go unconscious at any second. It only spurs Steve to move faster, stopping when Bucky needs to stop but only for a moment before continuing on.

Eventually, they reach the camp. Medics scatter amongst the recently saved but Steve waves off any that approach him and Bucky, snagging a medkit and ducking into his own tent. He lays Bucky on the cot and pulls a stool over.

"Alright, explain," Bucky insists, eyes half-lidded but he's peering at Steve anyways.

Steve smiles faintly, inching the brunette's undershirt up. "Well, I enlisted again. Tried too. I got pulled aside by this doctor who let me in for some reason. Did everythin' by the book until I threw myself over a fake grenade and they decided I was worthy of some kinda weird experiment." He pauses to look over the already fading bruises on Bucky's chest, chewing his lower lip. "They poked me a bunch, I went into a weird container and walked out the same. They thought it didn't work until I ripped the door off my taxi."

Bucky's eyes actually widen, though it looks like a lot of effort. "S'your all strong now? Why're you still so skinny?" His fingers jab at Steve's waist

"Ah, hey, buddy! I just dragged your ass all the way here, a lil appreciation would be nice." Steve is grinning though, glad to see Bucky can still crack jokes and is coherent enough to hold a conversation. "But yeah, all strong now. Stayed the same damn size."

A soft hum leaves the brunette's throat as his eyes flutter shut again. "Prefer you like this. Easier to push you 'round."

Steve rolls his eyes, something he's grown used to doing with Bucky, and rests his elbows on his knees.

Silence fills the tent as Bucky lays there, and Steve feels his chest tighten because this is his best friend and he let those assholes do this to him. He wasn't fast enough, he didn't try hard enough, and now Bucky was in Steve's shoes. Bedridden, in pain.

_How could you do this to him? Why didn't you move faster? Look at him!_

Tears slip down Steve's face and he pressed his clasped hands against his forehead, mouth open as he takes in ragged breaths and tries not to sniffle. His shoulders start to shake from the strain of holding his sobs in.

"Hey, you guys got any - Steve?" Bucky's voice is dripping in concern and his hand comes into view, taking Steve's wrist and closing around it completely as he pulls the smaller boy's hands away from his face. "Whatcha cryin' for? I'm alive, ain't I?"

Steve shakes his head, his two hands barely holding Bucky's larger one, and he presses his forehead to Bucky's knuckles. "I-I'm so sorry, Buck. I sh-should've been better. I coulda stopped this and you wouldn't be l-like _that_ and you-" His voice cracks as he let out a soft sob, one hand wiping his face and nose roughly as an attempt to compose himself fails. Before the serum, he would have just waited to be alone before maybe crying a little bit, but the mixture had tampered with his emotions and hormones, and now he felt like a giant crybaby.

"Stevie, hey, don't cry. Please don't cry, 'cause then I'll cry and you cry when other people cry and it's a whole mess." Bucky's thumb grazes over the bump on Steve's wrist, an all too familiar feeling.

"Shut up!" Steve laughs through the tears, finally bringing himself to look up at Bucky through bleary eyes.

There isn't a single inch of Bucky's face that says he's angry or upset, disappointed. Nothing. All there is a soft smile and a worried look in his eyes. And the thumb on Steve's wrist is still going, still soothing.

So why did Steve feel so fucking guilty?

"I'm alright, Steve. I'm fine. See? All good. You can breathe now, y'know. In and out, that thing where you bring in air."

Steve tries, breath shuttering and face hot from crying. He feels stupid for crying in the first place. He was supposed to be Captain America, or whatever they wanted to picture him as. How could anyone take him seriously when he looked like a scared little boy who just got his favourite toy taken away? They couldn't. And he had never been more thankful for how the soldiers didn't pry into private matters because this - the hand-holding, the crying, the nicknames - would get them both labelled as fairies or fags for sure. While they might be right about Steve, he doesn't want that affecting Bucky.

"You need sleep," Steve finally breathes once he could talk. "We'll get you checked out and cleaned up tomorrow, just...sleep for now."

Bucky scowls a bit, head turning away as he scoots to try and sit up. "No, I need to-"

Steve puts a hand on Bucky's chest, fingers curling into his stained undershirt gently and eyes pleading. " _Please_ , Buck. Rest for me, okay? 'Cause the sooner and more you rest, the sooner you'll be back up and at 'em again, alright?"

A look of disappointment passes on the brunette's face but he allows himself to be pushed back into the bed. He doesn't look happy about it, and Steve knows that. Steve knows Bucky hates laying around and doing nothing unless it's intentional. He hates feeling useless. Steve would give up the serum in a heartbeat if it meant Bucky could be himself, feel like himself, again.

"Only 'cause you're givin' me that look." Bucky shifts with a grunt, face pinching, but he settles.

"I'll be right here. Not goin' anywhere, never again, okay?" Steve places Bucky's hand under the blankets and turns the lantern down, staying with his elbows on his knees and his chin resting on his hands.

It isn't long before Bucky is asleep — reluctantly if you asked him probably. Steve busies himself with tidying the tent, cleaning the mess he left when he had gotten word of Bucky's whereabouts. He folds clothes, organizes his books, even polishes his boots. Anything to keep himself from sitting and staring at Bucky. Because worrying is one thing, but obsession is a whole other ballpark. And Steve has never been good at baseball.

Eventually, though, Steve runs out of things to do. So he sits in the chair and watches the flame in the lantern. His eyelids are heavy but he forces himself to stay away, determined to be here if Bucky needs him.

Back in Brooklyn, the roles would be reversed. Bucky would be sitting next to the bed, worried and exhausted, refusing to take care of himself to care for Steve. Memories of flu and simple chest colds fill Steve's head, the familiar ache of a particularly bad cough or too violent sneezes filling his chest. And he's Captain America now, or he's supposed to be, but occasionally he feels the pains. They're not common, but they're there — backaches, weak knees, shortage of breath. Steve can't blame the serum for not being perfect though, otherwise it would have made him look less...pathetic.

A yawn escapes Steve as he stretches, finally agreeing with himself that he should sleep, and as he reached to adjust the covers on Bucky's chest he's met with a scream. Utter panic on Bucky's face as he shoots upright and grabs Steve's wrist tightly.

"Bucky! _Buck_!" Steve shouts, putting a hand over the hand gripping his arm. "You're okay! Everythin' is okay. You're here, with me. I won't let anythin' happen to you."

Bucky's eyes find the blond's and he calms down, lips pressing together in embarrassment. "Sorry, I...sorry."

_Fuck it._

Steve shifts to space on the bed next to Bucky, pushing his legs under the covers and glancing nervously at the tent entrance. "Here. I always used to sleep better when you were beside me, let's see if the same goes for you," he mumbles, laying down.

It takes no time for Bucky's face to be buried against Steve's chest, breath hot and hands holding Steve's waist gently. It's not awkward, but it makes Steve's heart jump into his throat.

"You're usually the one doin' this to me," Bucky comments softly, his thumb bumped against Steve's hip bone gently.

"Mhm. Now it's your turn." Steve's hand instinctively goes to Bucky's hair. It's longer now, matted and knotted so Steve starts to gently work them out with his fingers. He feels the small part at the nape of Bucky's neck where Steve always misses a section with the scissors, a couple of strands longer than the other. A smile curls across his face, images of Bucky swearing every time Steve would tug it or whenever it tickled the back of his neck filling the smaller male's head.

Bucky is dead asleep quicker this time, mouth parted like he was on the verge of saying something. Steve's finds himself staring a little longer than a best friend should, his eyes flickering to the tent one again.

Whatever. If anyone walked in they would see a best friend doing the most for a friend who was suffering. That's what this is. Comfort. At least Steve is trying to convince himself that's all this is. But he knows better than to play ignorant and ignore the ache in the pit of his stomach. The longing gripping his lungs and pushing him to breathe words that could cause a catastrophe.

How are you supposed to tell your best friend you've been in love with them for years?

You don't. That's how. Especially if both of you are boys and half the men in your squadron might lose their minds if they find out they've been showering with queers. None of them would listen to sense, understand that nothing happened before so why would it happen now.

Steve is aware of all this, but he still stares too long. Still lets his fingers push into Bucky's messy hair to play with it. Still presses closer, legs partially tangled with the soldier's next to him. If anyone asks he will play innocent. Claim it was to help Bucky sleep. Say that they've been doing this for years since Steve was the one in pain. It wouldn't be a lie. It would be if they ask if he's gay and he says no. Or if he denies liking Bucky. But he can lie about that too.

And Steve is okay with lying. He's been doing it for a long time, he can do it for little while longer.


End file.
